


REACHING OUT TO YOU

by jean_huh_kirschnickerdoodle



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Comfort Sex, I JUST NEED THESE BOYS TO HAVE FEELINGS AND FUCKING EXPRESS THEM OKAY, M/M, Sadness, Smut, after ep 8 of rok, and episode 8 got me real fucked up here, and hurt, and stupid, canonverse, saru is hurt okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-03 12:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5291258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jean_huh_kirschnickerdoodle/pseuds/jean_huh_kirschnickerdoodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being hit where it hurts the most, Saruhiko seeks comfort in the only one he ever could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	REACHING OUT TO YOU

**Author's Note:**

> ep 8 fucked me up

He hesitated, feet adhered to the ground mere inches away from the door. He could still remember the way it looked then; a near-clone of what he saw in front of him but for the shattered windows and remnants of used up fireworks. JUNGLE. That had been the day that had started it all, the day that Aya targeted Yata, the day that he had felt true, gut-twisting fear for the first time, the day that he had found himself measured and wanting.

He could hear Homra on the other side of the door, could see it all in his head. Kusanagi at the bar, spoiling Anna with some sweets. Misaki stretched out on the couch that was surely still pressed to the wall. Kamamato, Bando, and Akagi probably crowded around one of the tables, loud in whatever game they were passing their time with.

There was always so much laughter. So much noise.

His hand trembled as he reached toward the handle, reluctant and unsure. He shouldn’t be here. Why was he here? Was it okay?

_‘You’re used to being a traitor, anyway.’_

His teeth clenched as he swallowed down the volatile ire that rose in his throat; a hot bile that burned the back of his tongue as he bit it back. Slender fingers gripped the handle, turning it and pushing it open in one swift movement. Heat hit him as he stepped onto the welcome mat, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat, and he couldn’t find it in him to look at any of them.

“Saruhiko…”

The sound of his name, almost whispered in disbelief, somehow just made the words seems to echo in his head.

Traitor.

Traitor.

_Traitor._

His fists clenched inside his pockets. Why was he here? Where else was he going to go?

He still couldn’t bring himself to meet their eyes. To meet his eyes.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eyes, heard the quiet thump-thump-thump of rubber sneakers on Homra’s smooth hardwood floors. There was the barest hesitation, a flash of copper as Misaki looked to Kusanagi as if confirming permission. There was a bitter taste in his mouth at the thought of his childhood friend needing permission, and doubt welled up in him.

He shouldn’t have come. He shouldn’t be here. He should ha—

Then there was warmth, strong arms not hesitating to wrap around him. They held him tight, pulling him down and squeezing him with a lack of reservation that took Saruhiko’s breath away. He could feel his throat tighten and there was a burning in his eyes that he chose to ignore. His body relaxed in Misaki’s arms, his somehow still-familiar scent drip-dropping into his being, and his slender fingers twisted into the sides of the brunet’s shirt; hands hidden from the other’s eyes.

He couldn’t help the sense of loss as Misaki let go of him, pulling away and searching his face. He still hadn’t looked at the shorter male, keeping his eyes to the side. How could he? Was he hoping for forgiveness—he didn’t deserve it, he knew. Or maybe he just wanted to go back, knowing he never could.

“Come on.” Misaki’s voice was uncharacteristically soft; and why was he looking at him like that, with such concern?

Still, Saruhiko followed him to his room. To their room. To his room.

It was…surprisingly unchanged. Somehow he had thought that with his ‘betrayal’ Misaki would have changed everything, made it into his own little world. But it was the same; pictures of them when they were still kids—before Homra and when they had first joined—remained tacked to the walls, his books were still in the corner on the desk, even his blanket was still part of the collection on the bed.

Sure, there were new things—more red, more Homra, more Misaki without him. But he had never trashed the things Saruhiko didn’t take.

The fluttering in his chest was short-lived as he reminded himself that he wasn’t part of this place anymore. Quiet steps carried him to sit on the edge of the bed, fingers mindlessly twisting into the blanket that was his own.

“Seri called looking for you; she was worried.” Misaki’s voice seemed small and the mattress sank as he sat beside the taller male.

A mirthless laugh escaped Saruhiko. It was unfair of him. After they got past the initial distrust, Seri had been nothing but kind in her way; of course she’d be worried when she heard what had happened.

“Saruhiko,” There was a pause, “Why are you here? I mean—what happened?”

“Didn’t Seri tell everyone?” He didn’t mean for the words to have bite, and why were his hands shaking as he closed them around the blanket. And why the fuck couldn’t he just _look_ at Misaki?

He knew the answer to that one.

Shame.

It was shame. Shame for what he’d done years ago. Shame for not coming back. Shame for not being honest with him.

Fuck there was so much shame.

A shame that churned in his stomach and burned up his throat and made him want to live with his head in the rim of a toilet bowl so at least then maybe he could get it all out instead pretending he was fine.

“Saruhiko.” There was something telling about the way he said it, like he knew that the raven was just deflecting. “All she told Kusanagi was that you had left after you and the Blue King had gotten into it.”

There was a pause.

Misaki’s voice was small when it broke the quiet. “Did you really abandon your King just because of a spat?”

_‘You’re used to being a traitor.’_

“I don’t think that’s really something you’d do, though.” The near whispered words left Saruhiko stunned, eyes wide as he finally looked at Misaki—hazel eyes on his hands in his lap—and left a flutter-clench in his chest.

“Munakata he…” He swallowed hard, failing to force his heart back into his chest and choke out the words. Two, three, four breaths later they slowly slipped from his tongue. “He gave up.”

“What?”

“He just…quit. He lost and he quit. He just said he’d leave it up to the Silver King. I’ve never seen him like that. So…so weak. And all because he lost? He wasn’t even so messed up after he killed Mi—” He bit off the name, subconscious aware of how it would hurt Misaki; albeit a bit too late. “At least not outwardly, anyway.”

“His sword…the burden of killing a King?”

He wondered just how much strength it had taken Misaki to say that so evenly.

“Yeah. But this…he was just.” Saruhiko sighed; Misaki got the point, he was sure. “I told him…” His hands shook even as he gripped the blanket, remembering. “I said if he was gonna bail, I’d resign.”

_Stupid. Fucking stupid. I hadn’t really meant it. I wouldn’t—I just wanted to say something to snap him back to being himself. To being a King. To being my—_

Silence loomed over them, heavy and suffocating. Crushing. His hands continued to shake—had they ever shook so badly before? Maybe; when he left Homra, perhaps. His knuckles ached, white even against his pale skin from the force of his grip—some desperate attempt to stop their incessant trembling.

Futile effort, that.

“He…” Saruhiko’s voice dropped into a whisper, lips pulling back in a snarl that was more pain than anger. “He called me a traitor.”

His eyes burned and his throat closed and everything just…ached.

“Saruhiko…” Misaki’s voice was soft, his touch even softer. His hands were warm as they rested against Saruhiko’s face, fingers dancing against his jaw and thumbs brushing hot tears from his cheeks.

When had he started to cry? He hadn’t even noticed, but Misaki had. Of course he had. And he was looking at him with those eyes; eyes full of concern and camaraderie and he thought maybe there was even love.

He deserved none of it. He didn’t deserve those eyes that he fell in love with when they were kids.

“He was wrong.”

The words were short, replaced by warm lips against his, lips that sucked the breath from his lungs and encouraged the tears to fall freely from wide blue eyes. Wet lashes slowly fluttered shut, tears pooling and spilling over Misaki’s thumbs.

The kiss was soft, warm, and most of all, it was familiar. How long had it been since he’d felt Misaki’s lips on his own? It had been too long, he thought—but it didn’t matter. It was still the same as ever. No reservations and a softness that the brunet didn’t openly show to anyone but him.

It was only fair; Misaki made him weak.

The kiss was short-lived, the hummingbird of his heartbeat less so. Hazel eyes looked up at him, hands slipping loosely to cup his neck, but not quite pulling away. Misaki was searching.

“Saruhiko..?” Searching and wanting.

The taller male didn’t hesitate, slender fingers gripping Misaki’s wrists as he leaned in, capturing his lips. He thought the brunet must’ve found the answer he was seeking, lips pulling into a smile even as they pressed against his. He had always liked to do that, once telling the raven that he couldn’t help it. It was just a reflex because when he was with Saruhiko, he was happy.

It had been embarrassing but even to this day Saruhiko thought back on it, and it made his heart flutter to life.

Even as the tongue swiped across his lips, soft flesh parting to allow its entrance, Saruhiko wondered what he had come here for. But somehow, it all just sort of flittered away into the warmth of Misaki’s hands on him and the taste of his tongue on his own.

He shifted deeper into the kiss, turning toward Misaki, fingers pushing the black beanie to the bed behind him—he still wore his hair the way Saruhiko had cut it. He turned more toward the smaller male, lips becoming more and more hungry as his tongue lapped up every drop of flavor and rolled against the brunet’s in search of more.

Slowly, he moved from knees-bumping to sliding onto Misaki’s lap. His knees rested at either side of his hips and he hummed into the kiss as his fingers twisted into the front of his shirt. He wanted more.

So much more.

More than he could ever ask for.

He wanted Misaki.

And he wanted forgiveness.

But mostly, he just wanted his small world back.

He wanted to breathe Misaki’s name, soft and wanted, without a retorted ‘monkey.’ He wanted to touch him whenever he pleased. He wanted to sit with his knees bent at the brunet’s sides and arms wrapped around his strong body and no one questioning why. He wanted to sleep in the same bed and make unreasonable, childish plans for the future and laugh about them until Misaki would fall asleep, and Saruhiko would simply kiss him softly and hold him close and silently vow to protect him.

“Saruhiko…?” The voice was soft, a little hoarse as it whispered from kiss-reddened lips. Hazel eyes looked at him with concerned, strong fingers unsure against his hips.

 _Ah_ , realization dawned on him, _When did I start crying again?_

“I know I could never ask—” He swallowed down the words. He didn’t deserve to even mention forgiveness. “But…can I just have this…” His fingers shook as he fiddled with Misaki’s shirtfront.

Misaki furrowed his brows, and Saruhiko knew he wanted to ask. It was always zero or one-hundred with this guy. Instead, he nodded, tilting his head up to kiss the raven again.

It was slower this time, silky and languid and his strong hands held his own face close to Misaki’s as the brunet slowly pulled them onto the bed. Saruhiko didn’t fight it. This was what he wanted. Maybe he could never ask for all of that, but at least now, in this moment, he could have Misaki.

Warm hands—so warm—ghosted up his neck as Misaki broke the kiss. Carefully, he removed Saruhiko’s glasses and set them to the side. It felt…weird without them. But this close it didn’t matter, he could still see him. The smaller male had once told him he liked his eyes. Looking into his—hazel and deep and warm—he thought he understood.

Even as their movements were slow, it was as if the dam broke. Desperate, needy kisses smacked into the silence. Lips sucked and teeth nipped and tongues pushed deep, deep, deeper, hungering for more. Hands danced down bodies and over thighs, slender fingers running down the knees that pressed to Saruhiko’s hips whilst strong hands fumbled with his waistcoat.

He had barely dropped the waistcoat from his wrists before he was on Misaki again, glad he had taken the moment to shove his own jacket to the side. Long fingers slipped under his loose, black tank top. He pushed it up, letting his cold fingertips dance over the brunet’s nipples, relishing the sharp gasp it pulled from him.

Before he could do more—and oh how he wanted to—Misaki was returning the favor, tugging at the hem of his shirt and urging it over his head. Saruhiko curved his lithe body, hair floomping momentarily as the cloth pulled on it.

“Saruhiko you—” There was surprise in Misaki’s voice, and maybe it was the lust talking, but he couldn’t place why for—it wasn’t the first time he’d seen Saruhiko like this. Then warm fingers trailed just below his collarbone, a tug on his neck. “You kept it.”

“I—” He looked away as Misaki’s fingers ran over the dark red beads. “Of course I did.” He muttered.

Misaki only smiled up at him, pushing up onto his palm and pressing his lips to Saruhiko’s collarbone, the beads pushing into the flesh beneath. He followed with another kiss, and then another, and another. Slowly, he trailed soft, chaste kisses over his collarbone, his shoulder, halting to let his lips brush over the marred Homra insignia that still lingered.

Saruhiko had once asked Misaki why he thought their marks matched when no one else’s did. The brunet had shrugged him off, muttering something about friendships and connections. He had never been able to accept it as something so simple.

But then, he never could tell Misaki he thought it was because he was his world.

He shivered as Misaki’s tongue danced over the mark, lips closing around it and sucking over the surface. As if he had to reclaim him.

_You don’t need to._

“Saruhiko,” His breath was hot and heavy against his chest. “In the drawer.”

Saruhiko paused, a shiver dripped down his spine as Misaki nipped at his flesh one last time. He took no time at all to pull out a bottle of barely-used lube and a condom. He held the condom between his fingers, quirking an eyebrow down at the brunet.

“Why do you even have these?” There was a pang in his chest as he thought about the possibility of Misaki moving on with someone else.

“That’s—” His cheeks heated red, flush slipping into his ears. “It was just in case—”

“In case you got a girlfri—”

“In case you came back.” His eyes were firm, fiery even, blush still hot on his face.

“Misaki…”

“Have I…ever made it seem like I wanted someone else?” His voice was low but strong.

“No. Sorry, Misaki.” He leaned in, hands brushing into brunet locks and lips pressing beside his ear. “I’m sorry.”

_For so many things._

“I know. I’ve always known that.” Saruhiko’s eyes widened but before he could question it, Misaki’s lips were on his, fingers tracing the muscles down his back and slipping around his hips. Even while his mouth was preoccupied, those strong hands manage to open his pants, dipping into his underwear and slowly stroking his erection.

“Haah—Misaki—”

“Saruhiko, hurry.”

The taller male swallowed hard, pulling away from him reluctantly. He was quick to unfasten Misaki’s pants and push both them and his underwear to the floor beside the bed. His hands seemed to steady as he filled one with lube, leaning back over him to kiss him softly.

Misaki’s hand reached between their bodies, guiding Saruhiko’s between his legs, urging him on. A slender finger gently massaged over the entrance, feeling it twitch under his touch. Just as a warm tongue swiped over his lips, he pushed into the resisting hole.

It squeezed around him, Misaki’s breath stuttering against his lips. Still, he slowly pushed into him. His movements were slow, tentative, almost nurturing. And they were relentless. Saruhiko knew this body better than anyone, and knew how best to get him prepared—to get him riled up.

It was just as he felt a tongue on the shell of his ear that he slipped a second finger inside his hot entrance. The resulting moan in his ear made him shiver, fingers stuttering only for a moment before returning to their slow, fluid thrusts. He pushed into him until his palm sat flush, rubbing his fingers over his ass and spreading it apart as he pulled along the sticky walls, reveling in the way the brunet nibbled at his ear—his silent way of encouraging him. More~

He was careful not to crook his fingers, instead focusing on softening and stretching him. Misaki had always said he didn’t like when he pushed on his sweet spot with his fingers, not when he was going to get the real thing. He said it cheapened that first shot of pleasure.

“Saruhiko—enough.” Heavy wet breaths broke the words, blown eyes looking up at him from under long lashes.

Saruhiko swallowed hard, throat tight and dry with want, mouth nearly dripping with the need to _consume_ Misaki. He nodded slowly, licking his lips as he looked down at the body beneath him—legs open around his hips, body twisted and curved, muscles baring themselves beneath his shirt. He fumbled with the condom for all of .05 seconds before impatience won over and he tore the foil with his teeth.

He pushed down his pants and underwear just enough to free his achingly neglected cock, now hanging hard and heavy between his legs. Misaki sucked in his breath at the sight, reaching forward to take the condom from Saruhiko’s fingers. Slowly, warm fingers unrolled the latex over the length of his throbbing shaft, pulling a shiver from him.

Lips pressed to his stomach, dancing over his ribs and up his chest as hands ghosted up his sides.

“Hurry.” Misaki’s breath whispered against his body, Saruhiko’s muscles quivering in response.

“Whatever you say.” There was a smile on Misaki’s lips again as Saruhiko gripped his jaw and captured his lips again, shifting his weight forward to push the smaller male back into the mattress.

He pulled from the kiss long enough to look down at him once more, hitching Misaki’s hips toward his own and lining his cock up with his entrance after applying a liberal amount of lube. Like fuck he’d let this hurt him.

The brunet nodded, even breathing as hazel eyes roamed his body. Taking it for what it was, Saruhiko slowly pushed into him. A soft moan pushed from his lips, smothering the wet, stuttered breath that came from beneath him. He pushed forward until he couldn’t go any deeper, then stilled.

His hands slowly slipped and danced over Misaki’s thighs, watching his torso quiver and the rise and fall of his chest. Strong, warm hands reached between them, fingers splaying over his hips, tips dancing against the surface almost in wonder of the way Saruhiko sat deep, deep within him.

Saruhiko leaned over him, catching his lips with his own and letting out a long, drawn-out moan as he slowly, shallowly began to move within him. Fingers cupped his neck, brushing along his jaw and gingerly holding him close. They were warm and soft and strong and home.

It was all he could do to steady his movements, deep and long and languid, cock pulsing inside of Misaki’s tight, hot ass. His walls swelled and pulled on him, tighter and tighter as they threatened to suck every drop from him.

Slender fingers twisted into the blanket that was once his, hips moving slowly as strong thighs pressed against them. His tongue moved against Misaki’s lips, cheeks, tongue, tasting all of him. Wanting all of him.

“Faster, I need more of you.”

The words panged against his chest, heart hammering like a fucking hummingbird as he snapped his hips forward, faster, faster, faster. There was so much heat, heavy and suffocating and it pulled him deeper, deeper, deeper, drowning him in the pressure in his spine and the chill in his core and the prickling pleasure drip-dropping through his very being.

He could feel blunt fingers digging into his back, lips against his neck, sucking hard at his flesh, teeth nipping and marring and oh how he desperately hoped maybe this time Misaki would break the skin. Maybe this time he would bleed. Maybe this time it would scar.

Mark him forever as Misaki’s. Only Misaki’s. Always Misaki’s.

“Mn—Sar—there—”

Saruhiko pushed his thighs under Misaki’s, hitching his hips hard against his own, and fucked into him. His hips were moving faster, faster, thighs burning from the pace and abs protesting, but there was nothing that could stop him in this moment.

Nothing that could keep him from burning this into his memory. The way his voice mewled and moaned into the chill air of Homra. The way Misaki’s breath, wet and heavy, panted into the space between them. The wet heat of a tongue against his chest, neck, ear, lips. The slick _schlorp_ of his dick sliding out of the tight entrance only to be sucked back in, the push-pull forcing a stutter into his chest.

“Saruhiko, please,” Misaki breathed and it was enough.

He knew, reaching between them to wrap his long, slender fingers around Misaki’s cock. It was hot and desperate in his hand; moan, gasp, nails scratching into his spine and then his name pooled into the air, crawling deep beneath his flesh, a heat in his veins only dulled by the wet heat in his palm.

And then he was coming undone, with a “Fu—Misaki—Misaki—I lo—Mis _aki~_ ” and his hips trembled, thighs jolting as his fingers twisted into his blanket and teeth nipped at his ears, pleasure pulling everything from within him and releasing it in hot, heavy, exhausting waves within Misaki’s ass.

“Saruhiko.” The voice was breathed in his ear, a panting whisper, warm fingers slipping into his hair as lips pressed chastely beneath his lobe. “Me, too.”

He pressed his lips to Misaki’s, kissing him slowly for a breath or a thousand—losing track of the minutes that passed as the sheen of sweat grew cold as his fingers tangling with another’s.

Eventually, he pulled out, slowly, savoring the last dregs of pleasure. He was in a daze, going through the motions as he cleaned up—trashing the condom, handing Misaki the box of Kleenexes, re-fastening his pants.

He sat at the edge of the bed, slowly pulling on his shirt as Misaki tugged on his underwear. The mattress shifted as he scooted to sit beside Saruhiko on the edge of the bed. Lips pressed against his still bare shoulders, and he couldn’t help barely nosing into the mess of chestnut hair. How he would have loved to take him in his arms and embrace him again and again.

Saruhiko settled instead for tilting his head, capturing Misaki’s lips in his own again, ignoring the burning building in his eyes. He couldn’t cry now. Not here. Not in front of him. Not like this.

Misaki stood slowly, sliding off the edge of the bed and taking a few testing steps to ensure he could walk fine. Even in his haze, Saruhiko was sure he hadn’t been too rough on him.

“I, um, I’ll be right back. I’m going to clean this up.” Misaki paused at the door, looking at Saruhiko as if he might disappear if he took his eyes off him. “Just yell if you need me.”

_Misaki._

He fought the urge to say it aloud, to call for him, to admit how he needed him.

By the time Misaki had returned, Saruhiko was fully dressed, glasses on his nose and thumb swiping across the screen of his phone. The green glow of JUNGLE was bright, reflecting against his pale skin.

“Umm…Saruhiko?” The confusion—and desperate need to be wrong—was clear on Misaki’s face as he looked from the screen to his...whatever Saruhiko was to him.

Lover? Friend? Once-was? Could have been?

“I shouldn’t have come here.” Saruhiko stood, shrugging into his jacket and shoving his hands in his pocket. He turned toward the door.

Strong fingers gripped his arms, Misaki’s forehead pressed between his shoulder blades, and were his hands shaking?

“Don’t leave me like this.” It was barely more than a whisper, sharp as a knife to his chest.

Saruhiko swallowed, forcing the sneer he’d become known for onto his face as he pulled away and glanced over his shoulder at Misaki. He only paused for a moment at the door.

“Well, I am a traitor, after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> this didnt come out nearly as good as id hoped and def isnt my best work but hey i finished it
> 
> comments sustain me, do that thing


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